The tears that were contained in Andrea’s eyes until now spill over. Feeling bad for how I’m handling this, for making her cry, I sigh and sit on the floor beside her.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” I say. “I wanted to text you for transparency, but you were looking forward to your evening with your friends, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
There’s another silence, and she eventually says, “Remember how jealous you were about Oliver? Imagine how I feel about her. You were with her for four years, and you married her. I think I have the right to go berserk, given the way you flipped about Oli when the worst we did was one kiss.”
“You kissed Oliver?”
I must have sounded concerned because she glares at me and says, “Read the room, Alexander.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I understand where you came from, Andrea. I keep telling you she meant nothing, and I don’t know what more I can do. I can repeat over and over that there’s only ever been you in my heart, but what do I need to do to make you believe me?”
“I don’t know… Maybe you can try actuallywantingme.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you don’t even want me anymore. And then you spend your evening with her as soon as I’m gone.”
“Of course I still want you,” I protest, confused by her words.
Fresh tears flow down her wet cheeks as she asks, “Then why aren’t we having sex?”
Fuck…Is she interpreting the distance I’ve set between us as a lack of desire for her? That was never my intention, but I understand why she’d think that.
Since I’m not answering, she continues, “Honestly, I can’t even blame you. Why would you want to have sex with me when I’m such a mess? I’m all over the place, and she’s so sorted and put together. I knew you’d get tired of me eventually, butI—”
“I hurt you,” I blurt out, refusing to hear more of her wrong assumptions.
“Yeah, and I hurt you, but—”
“No, not like that. Last time we had sex, I… I hurt you.” Admitting it out loud only worsens my shame. I’ve been living in a world of guilt since that day, refusing to touch her for fear of doing it again.
She turns to me, and I can barely bring myself to look at her. “Lex, baby,” she whispers. “You didn’t—”
“I saw the blood, Andrea. I saw the blood, so I know I hurt you.”
The look she gives me is so full of pain that my eyes water with tears. I fucking hurt her, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. But she’s more indulgent than I am, resting her head on my shoulder. “Mi amor, I’m so sorry.”
“Why? I’m the one who did that to you.”
“But you’re not. I’m the one who told you I was fine. I pushed you to be rough.”
“It doesn’t excuse what I did. I should have noticed. I should have stopped.”
She wraps a hand around my biceps, like a small, compassionate hug. “Would you have stopped if I’d asked you to?” she softly asks.
“Yes, of course.”
“And that’s all that matters. Even if it was wrong, it was consensual. I wanted it exactly like that, with the pain and everything, Lex.”
Why is she so fine with it? She shouldn’t be. It’s not some forgivable offense. “I can’t stop thinking about it,” I confess, wiping down the single tear on my cheek, “and I’m so scared I’ll hurt you again.”
“So what’s the plan? We never have sex ever again? It’s not the huge deal you think it is, baby. It’s a miracle it didn’t happen sooner, actually. You’re kind of huge, and I’m tight. I used to bleed now and then with one of my exes—below average size but terrible at foreplay.”
“You shouldn’t be so casual about this, Andrea.”
“I’m not. But it wasn’t your fault. I’m not blaming you, so please, don’t blame yourself, baby.”
I don’t answer but drop a kiss on her hair instead, passing an arm around her to hug her tightly. I don’t understand how we’re back here in yet another moment of despair. Maybe we’re bad for each other, after all. Maybe we’re doomed to hurt and lose one another. Like a curse that prevents us from being truly happy.
